


The Wise Man Knows

by FiaMac



Series: Psycho Heroes [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur-centric, Fluff, M/M, Post-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiaMac/pseuds/FiaMac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur needs relationship advice. When all else fails, call home.</p><p>"Hey, Mom, got a sec? I have something to tell you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wise Man Knows

**Author's Note:**

> Another Psycho-short, set some time after "Impolitely"

Hi, Mom. Hello. Hey. Hey, Mom. Ma. Mother. No, too awkward. Hey, Mom, got a sec? I have something to tell you. No, she’ll think you’re dying. Maybe this isn't—

_"Hello?”_

“Oh. Hey, Dad.”

_“Arthur! Wasn’t expecting to hear from you for another week or so.”_

Arthur winces. He doesn’t call enough, and his parents never really say anything about it, which just makes it all worse. “Yeah, ah… How are things?”

_“Same old, same old. You know how it is. Finally talked your mother into hiring someone to do the yard work, so that’s exciting.”_

“Right,” he coughs. Be casual, he reminds himself. “So, is Mom there?”

_“She took your grandmother shopping.”_

“Oh.” Damnit. “Cool. So, um…” And he panics because he doesn’t have a backup plan. He always has a backup plan—several—but in his impulsive decision to call home, he never thought past _hi, Mom._

 " _Is everything okay, son?”_

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. I just… I, ah…” And then his mouth divorces itself from the rest of him, especially his common sense. “I’ve met someone.”

Silence on the other end, long enough to make Arthur’s hand clench around the phone, then… _“Oh.”_

Arthur waits, but nothing further comes. And he cringes because this was already a bad idea, but now the words are out there, and nothing is ever going to be the same again.  “Nevermind, it’s—”

 _“If you’d rather talk to your mother about this sort of thing, I understand.”_ His dad’s voice is too mild, too gentle, making him feel like shit. 

“Dad—”

_“It’s just that, I know we’ve never really talked about the whole gay thing—”_

Arthur rolls his eyes. “The _gay thing?_ Really?”

_“Oh, shush, you know what I mean. I just… feel like we missed an important father-son milestone—”_

Oh, jesus. “You gave me the birds and the bees talk when I was thirteen.”

_“But then you told your mother you’re gay, and… I don’t know, I feel like we were supposed to have this whole different talk after that. Like a birds-and-birds talk, without the bees, but it never happened, and years went by, and we’ve never really talked about it.”_

Arthur drops his eyes to his toes even though his dad is six thousand miles away. Maybe this conversation was inevitable, but he so very much wasn’t prepared to have it today. Or even this month. Next leap-year sounds good. “It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you about it. I didn’t want to talk to _anyone_ about it. Mom just…”

_“Your mother just has a way of bulldozing into other people’s private business, I know. How do you think we got together in the first place?”_

“Please don’t tell that story again. I have enough issues as it is.” But it makes him smile, just a little.

 _“So it’s serious then?”_ The tone is less cautious now, more inquisitive, and Arthur can feel his shoulders relax. Nosy is good; nosy is normal. _“You and this young man?”_

“Young man? Dad, I’m thirty-two.”

_“Well, you’ll always be my little boy.”_

“Oh, god.”

_“Come on, talk to me.”_

“I…” And he actually _wants to,_ he realizes. Wants nothing more than to talk to someone about Eames and him, and the whole wonderful, confusing situation. But the words won’t come. He paces the room even though it’s just seven steps from couch to window to table to couch again. But action always makes the world clearer for him. “This was definitely a bad idea.”

_“Nonsense. Anything you can ask your mother, you can ask me.”_

“Oh, yeah? I called for advice on making a man fall in love with me.”

 _“Oh. Huh.”_ Again with the silence.

“Look, it’s okay—”

 _“No, no, no. I can do this. Just let me think for second. I am a man, after all. I know what men_   _want.”_

“Please, god, don’t ever say something like that again.”

_“Well, tell me about him.”_

About Eames? He’s an international criminal, like me, with a long list of aliases and arrest warrants. But that’s pretty much okay because he’s really good at finding my prostate. “Like what?”

_“Come on, the usual stuff. For starters, what’s his name?”_

“Ah… Bryce Emerson, but he just goes by Eames.”

_“Oh. Eames? Hm. Is this that same fellow you knew from the military?”_

Wait, what? “What?”

_“You’ve mentioned him before, you know. Years back, when you were on leave that time, getting over pneumonia.”_

Arthur pauses at the window and stares out over the Place du Bourg-de-Four with vacant eyes. “Oh.” It hadn’t been pneumonia, but only a handful of people still living knew that. “Did I?”

_“Yeah, talked about some annoying British guy that taught you how to play poker.”_

“I don’t—I don’t remember that.” He wracks his memory for anything else he might have said. Any change of behavior to indicate his parents know more than he wants them to. Fortunately, nothing comes to mind, but now he has a whole new reason to be anxious. Awesome.

_“Not surprised. You were kind of feverish at the time. So, that’s your young man, this Eames of the poker playing?”_

Arthur shakes himself back into the here and now. “Yeah, that’s him.”

_“What’s he like?”_

There’s a question. How does he describe Eames to someone outside of the business? “British. He—you know, he’s got that whole tea-and-biscuits thing going on.”

_“Oh? Is he one of them, whatchacallit, twinks?”_

“Dad!” He chokes, actually chokes on the shock—and the mental picture of Eames in shorty-shorts and lipgloss. “Why would he… Why do you even know that word?”

_“My son’s gay. I need to know these things. What? I’m not allowed to do some research? And don’t act all worldly with me, boy; it’s not like your generation invented anal sex, you know. I could tell you stories about what went on in my college years.”_

“Please don’t.” And, “Eames is not a twink. He’s ex-special forces, for chrissakes.”

_“Just checking. Not that there’s anything wrong with the pretty ones, if that’s your type. Just want to make sure I give you the right advice, is all.”_

“Hm.”

_“So you like the burly ones, then?”_

“I really think I should just call Mom back.”

_“Wait, wait, wait. I got it! I know what you should do.”_

Arthur sighs. “Go on.”

_“Well, with your mother, see, it was the little things that really got me going.”_

“Ugh.”

_“Shut up, this is good. So, like, the way she just knew how I like my coffee, without even asking. And the way she remembered I’m allergic to coconut after that one time at the beach party.”_

He’s going to need to incept himself into short-term amnesia after this conversation. Maybe lose the whole morning, just to ensure peace of mind. “So you’re saying the way to your heart really was your stomach?”

_“Well, sure, you know how I love your mother’s dumplings.”_

“That better not be a euphemism.”

_“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, kid.”_

“Gross. Okay, so feed him, then?”

_“It’s the nice thing to do, yeah. We did raise you to be a gentleman. And you know how those burly types can eat. But, no, mostly it was that she was paying attention, you know? To the little things. Anyone can remember a birthday if they write it down on a calendar, but the people who truly care about you remember what will send you into anaphylactic shock.”_

“I... guess that makes sense.”

_“You should bring him home for Christmas. We’d love to meet him.”_

Arthur’s mind skitters away from that idea and everything it implies. “I don’t—maybe. I’m not sure—”

_“When you’re ready. So long as you know, if he’s important to you, then he’s important to us.”_

“Thanks, Dad,” he says around the knot in his throat.

_“Always. I love you, you know. We both do.”_

“I know. Look, I’ve got to go. But I’ll call in a couple of days.”

_“Sounds perfect. And, Arthur? Thank you for talking to me about this.”_

“Thanks for listening. And the, ah, advice. Love you.”

 

 

_“Hi, hon. I was just going to call you. How do you feel about enchiladas for dinner?”_

_"Nevermind the enchiladas. I was just on the phone with Arthur, and you’ll never guess what he told me.”_

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "The Bottom Line" by Depeche Mode.
> 
> Look for the [Psycho Heroes Soundtrack](https://open.spotify.com/user/qvxh3o4rvca6soodo82lagqt8/playlist/2TOcGz53b6ONaVS8Q3gIGZ) on Spotify!


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